Victoria
by octoberiste
Summary: I wasn't always the villain. I had a life once, along with dreams and passions that filled my beating heart. It was all taken away when I died. When James came into the picture, he became my world... for 40 years. Then he was taken away. This is my story.
1. Preface

**AN: **

Here's the preface. I hope you like it! Hopefully Victoria will let me tell you her whole story before she drinks my blood. I want to thank Teri for her help, support, and inspiration.

**Disclaimer:** Victoria and Twilight belong to Stephenie Meyer, I'm just playing with them.

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"_One of the strange things about living in the world is that it is only now and then one is quite sure one is going to live forever and ever and ever. One knows it sometimes when one gets up at the tender solemn dawn-time and goes out and stands alone and throws one's head far back and looks up and up and watches the pale sky slowly changing and flushing and marvelous unknown things happening until the East almost makes one cry out and one's heart stands still at the strange unchanging majesty of the rising of the sun – which has been happening every morning for thousands and thousands and thousands of years. One knows it then for a moment or so. And one knows it sometimes when one stands by oneself in a wood at sunset and the mysterious deep gold stillness slanting through and under the branches seems to be saying slowly again and again something one cannot quite hear, however much one tries. Then sometimes the immense quiet of the dark blue at night with millions of stars waiting and watching makes one sure; and sometimes a sound of far-off music makes it true; and sometimes a look in some one's eyes."_

– Frances Hodgson Burnett, _The Secret Garden_

I look into the chocolate brown eyes of the girl whose existence has been torturing me for exactly fifteen months. The girl who I'm going to kill after my constant planning of her destruction. My throat sears at the scent of her blood – the blood of my prey. An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth, a mate for a mate. This feeble, fragile, unlucky human is going to breathe her last breath, and he is going to watch.

She's staring at me. She's so afraid; I can smell her fear. It excites me that she's so scared, but I'm hit with a sense of recognition. I am very familiar with this same kind of fear. Fear, not of dying, but of losing the ones you love. It had happened to me. Several times. But this girl... she is different from me, for the obvious reasons. She's so innocent, so pure. As pure as the melting puddles of snow beneath our feet. I could never compare myself to her, especially when I'm about to turn her into a puddle of blood.

I turn my head quickly to look into the eyes of the vampire in front of me. Even if I see those eyes every day for all eternity, I would never be able to get over their bizarre golden color. His eyes: brimming with love for her, filled with hate for me. But that color. It's just so... different. I don't understand how he can control himself, or how anyone in his coven can do what they do, for that matter.

He's hardly a vampire. I'm the vampire. I deserve that label, with every hunt I make, on every human I feed. I am the vampire here, not him. I am the monster. I am the killer. I am the cold, heartless creature. He's nearly human. Almost as pitiful as her. He drives a fucking Volvo, for God's sake!

But damn it, his eyes are messing with my head! For one burst of a moment that lasts for one second and a half, I forget what I had come to do. My life, my existence, flashes before my eyes. My mother, my father, my brother, my childhood, my friends, my home, him, my death and rebirth, my undead existence. Countless deaths to tame my thirst. I could have done better. Could have controlled myself, or at least tried harder. I could have maintained some shred of humanity. But I didn't. I was, and still am, a monster. Just for a half a second, I want to apologize to the whole world for the last one-hundred and fifty years of my existence. I look at Bella. Forgive me, I want to say. But I don't.

Then I remember why I'm here when the wind kicks up and I get a whiff of her hair. I shoot out of my trance like a bat out of hell, and I'm back with a vengeance. Fuck this shit, I think to myself. Her heart is pounding inside her ribcage, and I need for it to stop. Get past Edward, rip her heart out, and make it fucking stop. I've waited for so long to finish what James had begun.

I need her dead, obliterated, wiped from the face of the earth like James. To get back at Edward. An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth, a mate for a mate. I want Edward to be as dead, empty inside as I am. This asshole killed my reason to exist, and so I would kill his. In the back of my mind, I'm thinking that there's a possibility that after all this, I will become a pile of smoking ashes. And I don't think I mind that. I kind of like the idea, actually. The endless circle of days and nights and weeks and months and years will finally be over. My existence without James will be over.

Somewhere, far, far away in the cold forest, a wolf howls.

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Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed. Come discuss Victoria and all your favorite Twivillains on the Twilighted forums. Link is on my profile page.


	2. Emerge

**AN:** Here's Chapter 1... enjoy!

**Disclaimer:** Victoria and all other Twilight characters belong to Stephenie Meyer.

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Chapter 1: Emerge

New York City. February, 1965.

I come into the city at around midnight, and the sky is glowing deep purple, the stars are shimmering brightly. I stop for a moment to inhale the cold, bitter air, permeated with the aroma of roasting chestnuts on trashcan fires, dead leaves covered with fresh snow, cigarette and factory smoke blanketing the atmosphere, and humans. Humans in their homes, humans sleeping on park benches, humans walking the derelict streets. Millions of humans of all types, sizes, and flavors. My throat burns like something fierce, reminding me how long it's been since my last hunt. But I look like a disaster, and I want to have some fun attracting a meal tonight, so I'll need to find a woman to hunt before I go out on the town.

I usually only hunt women when I need something – money, shoes, clothes, a place to clean up. I prefer the taste of men. I see some lady I probably would have hated if I had to keep up with her in human society. Twenty-something socialite. A lot of people will miss her. I don't really care. I like her shoes. Her clothes aren't bad, and she looks to be about my size. She probably has more good stuff at home. No ring—no husband at home to kill. Oh well.

I run up to her quicker than she can see me and I pull her into an alley. Once she realizes that someone—or something—is attacking her, she screams and the sound of it excites me. She's noisy, though, and I don't want anyone to hear, so I break her neck, then feed. My first feeding in a week. She's not too bad, but definitely not my first choice. This pathetic girl is just the appetizer to the main course that will come later.

I rummage through the shit in her purse. Keys, wallet, some tampons (no use for those, I toss them aside). I strip off my dirty clothes and put on her bra, blouse, skirt, and stilettos. No underwear—I go commando. I fix my hair and emerge from the alley. I imagine I'm real hot right now. And I'm right, because within two minutes of walking along the street at human speed, five guys look me up and down as I pass. They all smell gross. Tasty, but gross. Like dirty men. So I don't even waste my time on them, even though I could have them all within seconds if I wanted them.

As I walk, I pass a prostitute wearing an ugly wig and something skimpy and sequined. She gives me a dirty look. I return it.

"Bitch," she mutters under her breath, and I growl at her fiercely, something akin to a mountain lion. She gets this horrified look on her face and runs in the other direction. Hunting humans is great, but sometimes just making them piss in their pants is fun, too.

The city socialite's identification in her wallet had her name and address on it. Suzette Stevens lives—or lived, rather—near Central Park. Classy. The apartment should be just two blocks from where I am now. It would have taken me longer to find the place if I wasn't familiar with the city, but I am. I like to come to New York every now and then for the international buffet, which is quite superb. I find her apartment and listen at the door. Dead quiet. I get her keys and let myself in. Everything is pink. Of course.

I glance around at all the fancy crap in the small room, and I follow the scent of wool, silk, and cotton to a large closet. I want to rummage it for something cute to wear tonight, but I catch a whiff of something gnarly. Myself. I smell like dirt and forest, so I jump in the shower. Her shampoo is floral, but it smells like chemicals. I use it anyway because my hair is starting to mat with grime, and I don't think tonight's meal would find that sexy. There's soap, but I ignore it, though I can't ignore the smell. Soap is fucking weird. It just creeps me out, like a science project gone wrong. I always avoid it. It's not like I need it—I don't sweat and my skin doesn't extrude oils like nasty human skin. Mine is perfect. I just need to get rid of this nasty forest dirt. So I grab the soap and throw it over the shower curtain. It smashes against the wall, and eventually the smell gets easier to ignore.

Damn, my throat is burning again. I need to make this quick.

The enormous closet is full of chic clothes. Suzette had style, I'll give her that. I quickly throw on a pair of high-waist slacks and a sleeveless turtleneck. I find a white rabbit-fur coat and put that on, too. I run my fingers through my wild, fire red hair and decide to leave it untamed. I quickly glance over at myself in a mirror. I look pretty fucking fabulous, as if I need to. My prey would be fawning all over me even if I wore a trash bag.

I go to the roof of the building after leaving the apartment, no trace of me left behind. I won't be coming back. I crouch to leap, then jump over three buildings at a time. After jumping for a few blocks, I get bored and sniff the air. A whole street of bars is near. I can smell cigarettes, alcohol, and human sweat. I jump from the ledge of a building and land gracefully in an alleyway. I emerge from the darkness.

I sniff the air again and I smell something sweet. It's the lingering scent of a male vampire. A familiar scent. I had known him, but I can't place who it is because the scent is barely perceptible. He had been here about three hours ago. I would track him down if I felt like talking to a vampire, but I don't. It would probably turn into a fight anyway, and I don't feel like having to kick someone's ass tonight. No, fuck that. I need to hunt now. From his scent, I can tell he traveled north. I'll go south.

Vampires are always competing over shit, I've learned. Even in a big fucking city like New York, they get all territorial. I usually win, anyway. I've been told I'm ruthless, fierce. I don't compete; I just take what's mine. Yeah, I'm a bitch. Cold and hard, quite literally.

But a male vampire. Every single one that I had ever met had been strikingly similar in one way. It's hilarious that they all thought they could charm my pants off with one fucking sentence. They open their mouths to speak and I roll my eyes, because I know what's coming, and that shit does not work on me. No. I'm as marble as my skin. No amount of vampire charm can penetrate this steel. I stop in my tracks for a split second because now I'm curious. I think for just a moment about tracking him down. But, like I said, I really don't feel like dealing with other vampires tonight, so I continue on my way.

I find my way to a crowded bar. I open the door and breathe in the air of delicious men. Mmmm—tonight is going to be fun. I smile at people as I pass, making my way through the crowd to the bar. I order a drink, a cosmopolitan, because I'm a classy girl. Have to keep up appearances. I'll stand at the bar and look cute, and my prey will come to me. They usually do, and that's the way I like it. Some guy is bound to order me a drink soon. I'm just too fucking pretty to ignore.

I take a sip of my cosmo. God damn, I forgot how disgusting alcohol is. It doesn't quench my thirst; I wasn't expecting it to. It doesn't burn like it does in human throats. It just tastes like heat, bleach, gasoline, and nasty. And a hint of a flavor trying and failing at imitating cranberry. I've never had alcohol as a human. I wonder if it's this nasty to humans, but they drink it anyway because it makes them feel good or whatever. However, as much as I hate the taste of raw alcohol, I love the taste of alcohol in blood. It adds a certain "je ne sais quoi" to the flavor. Perhaps that's why I frequent bars so often.

Anyway, it's going to be loads of fun puking this shit up later.

I look up at the humans around me, and there's a guy winking and smiling at me from across the bar. He's wearing a frilly shirt and bell-bottom jeans. I hate sixties menswear fashions. Men had been dressed much more dapper in the past few decades. Then the frilly shirts, polyester, and bell-bottoms became more fashionable for teens and twenty-somethings, and all hell broke loose.

"Can I buy you a drink?" he yells to me from across the bar. I slowly… painfully slow… walk over to him and smile coyly. I lean in closer so he can hear without me screaming.

"Sure," I say, shyly, in my most girlish voice. Then I giggle for good measure. Now that I'm closer to him, I can smell him. He smells like maple syrup and deliciousness. Men who smell like maple syrup usually, for some reason, are douche bags. I don't know why… if it's because they're douche bags that they smell like maple syrup or the other way around.

"What's your name, babe?"

"You can call me Tori," I flutter my eyelashes and giggle again innocently. Tori is the name given to my prey nowadays. It fits the times, I think, and makes me seem more cute and less deadly. As he's watching me, I make sure to swing about and shrug my shoulders bashfully. This dude is buying it, I can tell. I haven't given him a reason to be afraid of me… yet. My eyes are still black. After him, they would be red with his blood. It usually takes at least two hunts before my eyes return to their normal crimson color.

"Well, you can call me Clay, babe." Men who smell like maple syrup usually have names like Clay. I want to laugh, but I don't. "This place is groovy, isn't it?"

"Totally groovy! I dig it," I coo and lean in closer to him, letting my aroma intoxicate him. I'm going to whisper something completely sexy and mind-blowing. He'll instantly want to bring me back to his place and do naughty things to me. Little does he know, oh, how little does he know.

But then I smell something. I turn on my heels, maybe quicker than I should have, and look in the direction of the scent. He's coming in the door, and I can smell him stronger. Fuck! Can't I just have a peaceful meal tonight? I'm fucking thirsty, and I don't feel like dealing with vampire mating calls, vampire politics, and all that shit. I look back at Clay and smile, then back to the door. The vampire is not there. He's next to me.

I turn to Clay again and say, "Like, I'll be right back, man," then walk to the other side of the bar with the vampire.

I look at him, but I don't really look at him. I just kind of glance quickly, not paying attention. I'm too pissed off. His smell, though, is pleasant and familiar. Sweet like cloves and licorice, but with a hint of harsh tobacco. So familiar. And he's handsome, like most male vampires.

"Hello," he says, and the moment I hear the low velvet music of his beautiful voice, it hits a chord within me and resonates until my whole body is vibrating with excitement, or something like that, I'm not sure. I haven't felt this way in so long. I know who this is, but it can't possibly be him. No, impossible. It's not him. Just some asshole guy who's going to either try to take my new territory or try to get in my pants.

"Hi. Nice to meet you," I smile, humoring him. I would growl, but I don't want to bring too much attention to the only two vampires in the bar. "I'm Victoria. Look, this bar is mine tonight. If you want to hunt, move the fuck along. Okay? Great."

"I'm not hunting tonight," he purrs. God, his voice is so smooth. It had been so long since I had last seen him. But it's not him. "I smelled vampire, and I tracked you down."

"How romantic. Track down all the female vampire scents you come across?"

"No. I tracked you down because I recognized your scent. Apples and jasmine. I knew it was you, Victoria."

He steps into a sliver of light, and I can see him perfectly clear now. I study the rugged contours of his face, his sharp, crimson eyes.

"James," I say. The memories are beginning to flood back now, one by one, as clear as ever. It seems like just a few days ago that I had seen him, but it had been years. It's easy to forget how time flies so quickly when your existence is just one endless experience. I hadn't thought of him or those days in quite a while. Too many painful memories I had blocked out.

"Victoria," he says and then smiles.

"One hundred years," I say, smoothly, through my teeth.

"A long one hundred years it has been," he smiles again and steps forward with his hand raised to greet me. I step backward.

"Look, I'm not really interested in going traipsing down memory lane," my voice rasps. But it was already too late. The memories had all come flowing back at light speed, quicker than even I could run from them. The former vibrating excitement at seeing him now turns to anger. Honestly, I'm fucking pissed that he's here. Why the fuck did he come find me after he left me like that one hundred years ago? Jesus Christ, I'm so angry! I want to growl and scream and rip him apart. Fuck this. I turn to walk away.

"Victoria, don't go," he calls, and I turn around to look at his pathetic face. "It's so good to see you, and you can't deny it's good to see me, too."

He's sort of adorable.

"You left me, James. Do you know how much that—" I stopped, and searched my mind for something clever to say, but I couldn't think of anything. "Do you know how much that fucking sucked?"

He stands there unfazed by what I said.

"I thought about you every single day for one hundred years, Victoria," he says. "About thirty-six thousand and five hundred days, and you plagued them all."

"I haven't thought about you at all." And it's true, for the most part. It took me only ten years to get over him. "So just… fuck off."

He looks hurt. Good. He left me, and I never truly loved him, anyway. Maybe I did, I don't know. It was so long ago now. Fucker! I hate him so much for coming back, tearing my world up into a whirlwind once again.

"Victoria, please," he purrs, and the way he says my name now makes me react in a way I hadn't expected. The venom in my body rushes to my groin. It's like my hate and anger instantly transmuted into desire, or something, at the sound of his gently pleading voice. But I'm still angry. I look at him.

"James, just go," I'm certainly not about to let him know how his voice had affected me, and I'm definitely not going to fling myself at him. But I'm sure he smelled my desire.

"Victoria," he pleads again, pain in his deep crimson eyes. I want to comfort him, to say I'm sorry for being such a bitter bitch. But I can't. I won't until he apologizes for leaving. And I'm not about to force it out of him. I soften the angry look on my face and he reaches for my hand quicker than I can retract it. He holds it up to his face and kisses the palm. He takes my pointer finger and sucks it into his mouth, swirls it with his tongue. I can only imagine what this tongue could do to other parts of my body. I desperately want to find out what it would be like. He wants me. So I'll let him have me, but he has a lot of explaining to do before I fuck him.

He pulls me into his embrace and kisses the crook of my neck.

"I'm sorry," he pleads.

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I hope you enjoyed! Come discuss Victoria, James, and all your other favorite Twilight villains on the forums. Link on my profile page.


	3. Predator

AN:

Warning! This chapter is graphic. Blood, gore, and a sensitive topic. Your mother would not approve, and neither would Stephenie Meyer... I'm almost positive. If you don't have a queasy stomach... read on. If you do like vigilante revenge... read on. ;-) Don't say I didn't warn you.

Thanks to all my reviewers and readers! 3

Disclaimer: Stephenie Meyer created the villain, I gave her a story. Victoria and Twilight are still her property. Don't tell Victoria she belongs to anyone, though. She'll kick your ass.

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Chapter 2: Predator

"I'm sorry," he whispers again into my ear.

I pull away from James to look at him. His crimson eyes are full of sincerity. I don't want to feel the way I feel, but I do. Elation. I don't want to smile, but I do. I inhale a deep breath and my throat burns.

"Look, James, I really need to hunt," I say. "But I do want to speak with you. Meet me in the park in an hour. I'll only meet you tonight, so show up."

"Yes, Victoria. Take as long as you need," he smiles, and it's a wonderful smile. His razor-sharp teeth are glimmering in the multicolored lights of the discotheque dance floor. Beautiful. I don't want to be dazzled by him, but I am.

I still am kind of pissed at him. He has a lot of fucking explaining to do.

"See you in an hour, then," I say and turn away from him.

Now… back to business. Clay is still by the bar, fidgeting and shifting in his seat nervously. He looks up at me and waves. He still smells tasty.

"Hey, you're back!" he says. His voice is quivering, but so gently that human ears wouldn't notice. I'm making him nervous? How cute. "Need me to beat up that guy for you?"

I giggle, stifling maniacal laughter. If only he knew what James could do to him. I lean against the bar next to him and smile, trying to give off an image of friendliness, amiability, and all that nice human shit.

"No, no, that's okay. Sorry about that. Just some guy I used to date trying to get with me tonight. But I have other plans." I wink at him. "Are you ready to go?"

"You want to finish your drink first?" he doesn't really say it as a question, but more like he's insisting that I finish my drink. He pushes the glass of pink cosmopolitan in my direction.

"Umm… okay," I say and smile. I drink the godawful liquid, and if I'm not mistaken, it tastes even more disgusting than before. Whatever.

Clay and I walk to the door, and he reaches for my hand, but I fold my arms against my body like I'm cold. I am cold, and I don't need this human freaking out about how cold my skin is before I get him alone. I shiver. He looks at me and smiles nervously.

"Do you know how beautiful you are?" he asks.

Of course I know how beautiful I am. "No," I say shyly and smile at him through my eyelashes. He trips over a crack in the sidewalk. Dumbass.

"Well, you are the most beautiful gal I've ever seen." Shocking. No other woman is as beautiful as me, and if I ever meet a human woman prettier than me, I'll rip her fucking face off to fix that. A more beautiful female vampire, though… that's a different story. I know there are plenty of those. Cunts. If I could turn them all into piles of ashes, I would, and it'd be great, but after a while it would just get boring… and really, I'm not that vain.

Clay reaches for my hand again and grabs it. Fuck. I look into his eyes to see his reaction to my icy marble skin. I'm expecting horror, but I see only concern.

"Are you feeling okay, Tori? You're really cold."

"I'm fine. Just a little chilly." I fake a shiver again and smile.

"You don't feel dizzy or have a headache or anything, do you?"

What the fuck? How does that relate to my coldness? You know, this ugly bag of blood is really starting to get on my nerves with all his annoying kindness. I would just fucking pull him into an alley and feed now, but I've spent too much time trying to have a little fun. So far it's just been irritating. Asshole. The look on his face when he realizes he's not going to get laid is going to be fucking priceless. He will pay for trying my patience, and I will enjoy myself tonight.

"I'm fine, thank you."

"This is it," he says as he pulls me toward an apartment building. We go in the door and up the winding stairway… four floors… slowly. Jesus, could he take any longer? His heart is pounding louder in my ears with every passing heartbeat, with every step, and my throat is blazing. Now I wish I had taken him in the alley.

When we arrive to his door, he stops, and catches his breath. "Sorry," he says. "I should have warned you it was four flights."

Okay, okay, open the fucking door for Christ's sake. The lock clicks. He smiles at me, and I want to tear him open right then for making me wait. He opens the door and leads me inside. As we pass through the hall, I take a peek at the living room. Damn, it's ugly. Wood panel walls, orange carpet, a big brown couch. He leads me to a room and shuts the door. He turns on the light and my mouth pops open.

What. The. Fuck.

The walls are lined with acoustic paneling, and there's a huge… I don't know how to describe it other than that it's a fucking crucifix without a Jesus, but with ropes to bind the hands and feet. In a lone corner are some chains and cuffs. There's a shelf with duct tape, ropes, candles, and a knife. On the other side of the room is a surgeon's table. Clay is fucking kinky! Nothing wrong with a little kink.

But I smell something. I know that fucking smell. It's the very thing I live for. Blood. Human blood that isn't his.

I turn to look at Clay. He's looking at me with what looks like desire, but also with something I recognize well. Bloodlust. I know bloodlust. I feel it right now. I did not, however, expect to see it in his eyes. I want to laugh so hard. This is going to be so much fun. Clay smiles wickedly.

"What's going on?" I ask, trying to sound as scared as I possibly can.

"Well, I had to get a new girl since my last one went and died last night."

"How did she die?" I feign terror now.

"Being chained to the wall for a couple weeks usually does it. Some girls can go three weeks. Sometimes four."

"You sick fuck!" I scream and begin to run away. He throws up his arms to stop me in my path, so I run in the other direction, and Clay comes at me. He's going to try to throw me against the wall. His hands come up to my shoulders to shove me, and I feel his gentle pushing. I figure he's pushing hard, so I fall back quickly before he realizes how little his strength is against mine. When I fall back, I make sure not to overdo it and put a hole in his wall. That would be a bitch to clean up.

His heart is thrumming away in his chest. He's so excited, and the scent of his adrenaline is intoxicating. A bead of sweat drops from his brow. I scream again for good measure as he smiles and stands over me. I start to fake cry. Damn, this is so much fun. It's going to get even more exciting in just a few moments.

"Then right before nature takes her," he says gently, excitedly, "I fuck her, and then I put her on that table over there, and I make her wish she was never born."

He unbuttons his shirt, then undoes his belt and zipper and gets on his knees, pushes me against the wall.

"Clay, no! Don't do this, please!" I cry.

"Shut up, you little bitch," he growls and pushes his pants and underwear down. I can't help it anymore, it's too great. I laugh. I laugh hard.

"Why are you laughing? Are you laughing at me?" he's perplexed, completely astounded and baffled. "What the fuck are you laughing at?"

"I'm laughing at how pathetic you are."

"I'm not pathetic. I'm going to make you fucking pay, you cunt!"

"Oh no. No. You're not," I say, voice forceful now to let him know that _I'm_ going to run the show from now on. I smile widely to exhibit my razor teeth. "You picked the wrong girl to fuck with tonight, boy."

The bloodlust in his eyes has now turned to complete fear. He begins to back away, but he's not quick enough. I grab his testicles and squeeze. He yelps as I pull. I squeeze harder, and tears begin to fall from his eyes.

"Please don't," he weeps, and I squeeze harder yet. "Oh my God, no!"

"The wrong girl," I say.

I clamp my hand into a fist and feel his balls crush beneath the delicate skin. He screams loudly, pitifully. I let him go, and he jumps up and runs to the other side of the room. I stand up and wipe my hand on my slacks. I got sweat on it. Disgusting.

He grabs a knife from the shelf and runs at me with it. Fucking idiot! He's trying to make this fun for me, isn't he? He comes sprinting forward as fast as he can, and tries to plunge the knife into my heart. It doesn't even scrape the skin.

"Boo!" I say quietly, and jump forward. The knife bends against my skin. He looks into my black eyes and shrieks like a little girl. He's about to shit, he's so scared. I smile at him.

"The wrong girl," I say again.

He screams again and runs out of the room without his pants. I follow him, and he's running to the front door, but I get there quicker. He crashes into me. I hiss at him and he shrieks yet again. His heart is thundering loudly, and the sound of it ignites my thirst yet again. But I can resist for a few more moments as I taunt him some more. Fucker deserves it.

I pick him up and toss him onto his ugly brown couch. Before he can move, I'm right next to him. I break both of his legs so he can't move them, and he screams loudly. If I had blood, it would curdle.

"Would you shut the fuck up?" I yell as I put one hand on his chest to hold him down and the other over his mouth.

"So, Clay, how many women have you kept here in your lovely home?" I ask with a kind smile, and remove the hand from his mouth.

"I… I don't know," he says, struggling to breathe.

"Think about that for a second, okay?" I remove my hand, take off my fur coat, and throw it to the corner. It was all too quick for him to move. I put my hand back on his chest. "Thought of a number yet?"

"Uh…"

"'Uh…' is not a number, jackass. How many girls?" I roar, and he closes his eyes. "Ten? Twenty? More?"

"Fifteen, maybe," he says, choking on his breath. He's crying softly.

"Fifteen. Interesting. So, do you want to know how many people I've killed, Clay?" I ask him gently, smiling brightly. He begins to cry a little harder. I giggle.

"Thousands, Clay. I think I've got you beat by just a few!"

"Are you going to kill me?" he weeps.

"What the fuck do you think?" I roar at him, and he tries to move. "I'm going to make you wish you were never born."

"Please, no! I can be a good person. I won't kill anymore! I'll… be better… I—"

"You are so fucking pathetic, Clay. Absolutely pathetic. Don't you realize that I don't care what kind of a person you are? I'm your predator; I always was. Even when you thought I was your prey." I laugh. "No, Clay. You're my fucking prey. Hmm… that rhymes. Prey Clay." I giggle while he sobs.

"So pathetic," I say one last time.

I push my hand harder against his chest, and he yells out in pain. One quick shove, and the skin on his chest breaks beneath my hand, the bones surrounding his heart crush and crumble. Within a second, my hand is around his heart. It's pulsating in my fist. My other hand reaches inside the chest cavity and I pull the heart out with both hands, gently, so as not to disconnect it. Clay is still alive, and he's screaming. The sound of his fear is almost as good as the smell of his blood, but nothing will be able to top the taste. I bite.

I begin to drink slowly, enjoying it. The heart is still pumping in my hands, slower with every second. The sound of it reminds me of the sound of my own heart beating as I lay awake in bed at night many years ago. For a moment, it is my heart beating.

The blood cools then quenches the fire in my throat, and I drink it all until he is dry. The heart stops beating. Clay isn't screaming anymore, and a look of shock is plastered upon his face, there to be for all eternity.

"Oh, Clay," I sigh. "Thank you so much for such a marvelous evening."

I need a moment to collect myself before I clean up. I take a deep breath. I feel like I should feel bad for what I just did, but I don't. It should no longer shock me how little remorse I feel for taking life. I only feel exhilaration and euphoria. Sometimes, I feel nothing at all. However, I am never this brutal in my killings. Clay deserved it, though. He had it coming, and perhaps I, too, have it coming. I don't know. I don't really care. I can honestly say that this was the most fun I've had while feeding… in all my existence.

After putting myself back together, cleaning the apartment a bit, and disposing of the exsanguinated corpse, I run to Central Park.

I'm running so fast, the freezing wind is whipping at my hair, washing away all the anger I had once felt toward James. From a mile away, I can smell him, and I'm so… excited. Not pissed like I was before.

I track him to the park bench where he's sitting. He's beautiful. Stunning. A sliver of his skin is glistening in the moonlight. He smiles at me.

Fuck talking. He doesn't need to say anything to me, not now. It can wait.

I run to him at full speed and attack him. The bench gives out beneath us and cracks to pieces. My lips crash into his lips as I clasp his neck with one hand and the back of his head with the other. I pull him closer. God, he's delicious. Licorice, cloves, honey, peppermint… so many flavors I hadn't tasted in all my vampire years I could taste in his mouth. I straddle his hips with my legs and pull myself away to look at him for a moment. His eyes are glowing rubies. He pulls me back down to him and kisses me sweetly. His tongue meets mine first, and they begin a war or swirls and caresses. I unlock our lips and take a deep breath, only to breathe him into my lungs. I let out a sigh and he smiles at me.

"I have to tell you something, Victoria," he says.

"What? What is it?" I ask, nervous. "Is something wrong?"

"No, no… not at all, it's just…"

"Well? Spit it out, then!" I raise my voice a little, frustrated. What the fuck is wrong with him? But then he smiles again and I cannot help but be dazzled by him.

"I have always loved you," he whispers.

* * *

I told you your mother wouldn't approve. I'm sorry if I traumatized you forever. I promise you that the entire story isn't going to be this bloody. It is Victoria and James, though, so there is going to be some more blood. Just not all the time. And if the last few paragraphs are any indication of what's coming next... ;-) Reviews make me happy.


	4. Deeper

**Chapter Notes: **

So, it took me forever to write and edit this chapter. Sex scenes kill me. But I think it turned out okay. Tres lemony! ;-) Let me know what you think.

And if you like it, please review and let me know! I'm not writing for reviews, but it's nice to know what people think... even if you hate it!

Before you read, take a moment to admire the hotness that is Cam Gigandet in this photo: .

Disclaimer: Stephenie Meyer owns the Twilight Universe and Victoria... but don't tell Victoria someone owns her or she'll pwn you.

* * *

Chapter 3: Deeper

_I run to him at full speed and attack him. The bench gives out beneath us and cracks to pieces. My lips crash into his lips as I clasp his neck with one hand and the back of his head with the other. I pull him closer. God, he's delicious. Licorice, cloves, honey, peppermint… so many flavors I hadn't tasted in all my vampire years I could taste in his mouth. I straddle his hips with my legs and pull myself away to look at him for a moment. His eyes are glowing rubies. He pulls me back down to him and kisses me sweetly. His tongue meets mine first, and they begin a war or swirls and caresses. I unlock our lips and take a deep breath, only to breathe him into my lungs. I let out a sigh and he smiles at me._

"_I have to tell you something, Victoria," he says._

"_What? What is it?" I ask, nervous. "Is something wrong?"_

"_No, no… not at all, it's just…"_

"_Well? Spit it out, then!" I raise my voice a little, frustrated. What the fuck is wrong with him? But then he smiles again and I cannot help but be dazzled by him._

"_I have always loved you," he whispers._

"I have always loved you," he had whispered, and I stared at him for a whole two seconds before finding the ability to respond. I couldn't think of anything romantic to say, because honestly, I can't remember having any romantic feelings toward James until this very moment. I may have at one time, but it was so long ago. All of those human memories are so faded and blurry, locked in a corner of my mind far out of reach. Locked away so I don't go crazy thinking about them and how much I desperately wish things had gone differently in my life.

He's waiting for a response, so I roll my eyes at him, because I don't want him to love me. I don't want to love him. He's hurt me before, and more than likely, he'll hurt me again. Fuck! Why am I here? Why is he here? One hundred years of nothing from him, and now this?

He frowns, dejected at my rolling my eyes. He looks away from me, like he's too embarrassed to look at me. I'm suddenly ashamed at myself. I don't want to see this look on his face, now or ever again. He looks back at me, and his eyes—God damn, his ruby eyes are sparkling in the dawn light. I can't help myself. I lean down to kiss him again, and as we kiss, I breathe in his fragrance. Amazing.

I don't care that we're in the middle of Central Park, that we're on top of a broken bench, or that the sun will rise in about twenty minutes. I don't give a flying fuck because I need James now.

I throw my coat and it lands in a bush a few feet away. I want to rip our clothes off, tearing them into shreds, but before I can, his hands are at my back, lifting my shirt gently. The sensation of his hands brushing my skin sends a shockwave of tingles up and down my spine. It makes me want him more, so I rip open his shirt, sending the buttons flying into the grass. He tears off what remains of his shirt and undoes his own belt, button and zipper, perhaps to save them from my unrelenting desire to get him naked. Then he unfastens my bra and asks me to take off my pants.

I smile at the sweet yet forceful way in which he made the request. I stand up and undo the buttons quickly, pull the slacks and panties off in one swoop, and throw them at the same bush my coat is in. I stand there before him for a moment, and he and I smirk in unison. If we had hearts, they'd be thrumming like fucking mad with anticipation. I get back down on top of him, straddling his hips again with my legs. He grins widely as he stares at my breasts.

"You're so beautiful, Victoria."

"I'm up here," I say and then fail at stifling a giggle. He laughs along with me, then pulls me down to him so that every inch of our bodies is touching. He kisses me sweetly at first, then with more passion until our mouths are nearly devouring the other's violently. I can't get over how fucking amazing he tastes.

He growls, hungry for me. I return his growl, louder.

He holds me close, his arms around me, then moves his hands to grip my ass as he gently lifts me up and changes our position in one swoop so that now we're both sitting. I land on his lap and wrap my legs around his waist; his cock is hard, pressing against his tight abs. He pulls me closer yet, then kisses the crook of my neck with his whole mouth. He takes one hand and places it at my breast, pinches the nipple, then moves it along the length of my body to my groin. A finger finds my glistening lips, traces them slowly, then gently massages my clit as I begin to tremble. His tongue lashes against my skin, making its way below my ear, down my neck, along my collar, to the end of my shoulder, then back to my neck. I can feel his teeth grazing gently.

"Bite me," I whisper, and he complies immediately, sinking his teeth into my flesh. It tingles, and I feel the whole sensation traveling across my body. I moan loudly in response to the pleasurable feeling, the combination of his teeth nested in my neck and his hand that's now thrusting in and out of my pussy.

I can't hold back any longer, so I scream. "Fuck!"

I open my eyes and he's looking at me, smiling as his hand is working magic on my cunt, releasing the tension I'd had no idea was there.

"You like this?" he asks.

I moan in response, and he continues for a few moments before I stop him.

"I don't want to come yet," I say, breathless, and he smiles at me.

I grab his hand and push it away from me. I put my arms on his shoulders and push him backward onto the ground; I'm in control now. I lean down to kiss him, and I thrust my tongue into his mouth. I gracefully prop myself up so that I can kiss his neck, then lift myself a bit more so that I can make a trail of kisses from his right nipple to his left nipple. All the while, he is breathing deeply, unnecessarily, of course, but for some reason, his breathing enhances my desire for him. Its soft rhythmic flow from his lungs and the sweet scent of his breath seduces me, entrances me into a pattern of movements. My tongue finds its way to his navel, and from there along the trail of soft hair to his cock. I lean up, grasp it delicately, and look at it for a moment before I wet my lips.

After gently licking its head and tracing the length of the shaft with my tongue, I open my mouth widely and go down. He murmurs something unintelligible, and then he moans. Before long, his cock is thrusting in and out of my mouth, and my head is bobbing along with the rhythm of his thrusts and his breathing. My tongue is moving against him in waves.

"Victoria… fucking… amazing!" he screams.

I continue pleasuring him until he pulls my head away, to his mouth, and kisses me fiercely.

"I need to fuck you… now," he growls, his eyes burning crimson, brighter than before.

"Alright," I whisper, "However…"

"What?"

"Don't make love to me, James. Fuck me," I say vehemently, with a wicked smile upon my lips.

"Yes, ma'am," he says in mock submission before throwing me onto my back, spreading my legs wide, and entering me forcefully.

I scream not only because it hurts—I haven't done this in a while—but also because the violence excites me. He pushes, then rocks his hips into me with a perfect, rhythmic flow. I can feel each vein of his cock throbbing as the walls of my cunt tighten around him. He pushes harder to loosen me. I scream again; the sensation of it is so shocking to my heightened senses. His hands grasp my arms, then make their way to my breasts. Each touch of his fingers makes my skin prickle and radiate from the spot of contact. He reaches behind my back, pulls me up, and lifts me in one swoop like before so that I'm now sitting on his cock.

The sky is pink like a spring rose.

I grind my hips deeper into him. I lift myself up a little then sit back down, again and again, faster as the moments pass, each thrust deeper than the last. He growls with pleasure as I stare into his open eyes. He does not look away from mine. He shoves his hips, and they crash into me with a loud bang. A deep moan vibrates inside my body, like it's coming straight from my cunt, and makes its way to my lips. He leans up to catch the sound with his lips. I moan again and he catches it again.

I lean my hands against his hard pectoral muscles and look down to his perfectly sculpted abdomen, watch as it moves with each thrust, with each breath. There's a shallow valley in the center of his muscles, leading to his navel, which is outlined with soft curls that lead to his small bush of pubic hair.

Then I look down past my belly to where our bodies intersect, to where we are one, and I'm so turned on.

"Fuck me harder, James," I snarl, then grin. He pushes again, and our bodies crash loudly.

He grabs my legs and lifts me, twirls me around so that he can fuck me from behind. He pulls me down against his body, and I lie on top of him as he throws one arm across my torso to my clit. He massages it with his finger as his cock continues to slide in and out, quickly. Another moan escapes me. With his other hand, he clutches my breast forcefully and pinches the nipple. I feel his breath in the crook of my neck.

Our bodies weave together, interlacing with each thrust, with each unnecessary breath, with each gently prickling touch. We are no longer just fucking. We're making love. I can feel James inside of me, but deeper than his cock reaches. I feel his essence, his very being penetrating my body. I'm shaking uncontrollably, vibrating gently as his love pierces me, rips a hole, and sinks into my heart. I remember now, quite clearly, just how much I had loved James… as a human, and as a vampire. I cannot deny it now, how much I had loved him… because I love him now just as strong, if not stronger. This new emotion of love surprises me. It carries such a profoundness that I have never felt before. I'm about to be sent over the edge. It's too much.

I shift my body so that I can turn my head and kiss him. He opens his mouth for me and turns his head to the side so that I can kiss him deeper.

Suddenly, he grunts and moans at the same time, then whispers into my ear, "I'm coming."

In one simultaneous move, he plunges his razor-sharp teeth into the flesh on my neck while he takes my clit between his fingers and pinches it. I scream; the pleasure is overwhelming. His body trembles uncontrollably as he grinds into me, his cock pulsating savagely to no rhythm. This new sensation combined with that of my pinched clit sends me over the edge, and I'm coming, too. Again, my body vibrates, and I cannot suppress a deep and loud moan. The pleasure is unbearable now, and it surges throughout my entire body as I go limp. I come in waves, and it feels like it will last forever. I hope it does.

We are both unmoving now, and we lay here like this for a few moments. I finally lift myself, turn over, and lie on top of him. He holds me, resting his hands at my hips.

I have walked the earth alone for ninety years, and I can honestly say that I have never felt as though I was missing something. Now that I have in my arms what I didn't know I was missing, I don't want to let him go. I know that despite myself, I will always belong to this beautiful creature. And in defiance of my usual tendencies of solitude, I'm okay with that. I'm okay with this. We lie there for a few minutes, just kissing each other like old lovers.

He grins widely, and I smile in return.

"I love you, Victoria," he says quietly, and it's easy to believe him with the way his eyes are glowing. The way in which he just gave himself to me completely.

I love him, too, but before I can tell him, a pang of sadness washes over me. I'm sad that I hadn't had him with me all these years. That it took us one hundred years to get where we are now. It should have been sooner, so much sooner. Before I tell him I love him, before I commit myself to him, I need to hear why he left.

The sky is now glowing brightly pink and orange. The sun will be up within just a few minutes, fucking up our perfect moment… and it's going to be a bright and sunshiney day. Oh joy. We would have to spend it in hiding.

"I know a place to go," he says as we put on our clothes.

* * *

It is now a race against time, trying to stay in the shadows. There are spots of sunlight here and there, easy to avoid for now. He grabs my hand and pulls me into an alley next to an abandoned building. We go through mazes of the broken palace, through dilapidated hallways, from one room to another. He leads me into a small room that had a… nearly homely and comfortable atmosphere. A couch, a couple of chairs. A few pairs of clothes lie in one corner next to an empty backpack. Some books are piled nearby. I look at him and smile.

"So, you're a squatter," I laugh. "You bum, you."

"Yes, I suppose I am," he rolls his eyes, then laughs gently. "This is where I come when I stay in the city, to relax on days like today. I haven't been here in a while. I'm actually surprised that the building is still standing."

I smile at him, then step forward towards him. "So how long have you been tracking me?"

"What?" he says, surprised by my assumption. I guess I was right. "Oh, umm… A year now, I guess. I wanted to see how you were doing, and I sort of just started following you." He smiles, like he's embarrassed at being caught, and looks down at the ground. "Then it took me a while to finally decide to just… show up and see what happens."

I reach forward and place a hand on his chin. I step forward again, then tilt his head so that he looks into my eyes.

"I need to know, James. Why did you leave?"

"It isn't an easy explanation, Victoria," he said, and I realized something.

He no longer has an accent. I distinctly remember his British accent, but I don't know how I remember so strongly. Then an image flashes in my head, and then another. Suddenly, all these images are flying around through my head. Earlier, I remembered being in love with James while I was a human. Now all of those memories are setting themselves free from the locked box in the corner of my mind. The fuzzy images are becoming clearer and clearer, and now I can remember completely. These memories I had saved and kept hidden are all coming back to me, and it's okay. I won't go crazy, because I won't have to feel the pain of loss. Fuck, this is insane. I love him, and he needs to know.

"James, it doesn't matter why you left, or why you came back," I nearly shout in spite of myself. "I love you, James. I always have."

* * *

**End Notes:**

Reviews = good karma! ;-)

Hope you enjoyed. Come check out the forums (.?f=18&t=2294) for updates!


	5. Fracture

**Chapter Notes:**

Wow. I haven't updated in a month. I suck. Hopefully once I finish this semester, and get over my writer's block, I'll be updating more normally.

Well, in case you forgot, in the last chapter, Victoria and James have wild, crazy sex in Central Park, she realizes she loves him, then she starts remembering her human life. Here, Victoria remembers more...

Thanks for the reviews for the last chapter. They're always appreciated.

Disclaimer: Stephenie Meyer created and owns Victoria, but as always, let's not tell that to Victoria. ;-)

* * *

Chapter 4: Fracture

The memories of my human life that I had locked away in mind, broken and hazy as they are, came back to me in an instant. I only remember certain things: the most important things… the happiest and the most painful; the most pivotal. The ones that changed me forever.

Portsmouth, Virginia. June, 1855.

"Victoria!" she sang in her beautiful voice, dancing into the room as though her feet were hovering. "Victoria, my darling, it's time to rise. I've begun breakfast."

I gasped and sighed a low grumbling protest. She had woken me from my familiar dream.

The dream was always the same, and had happened, in reality, a week before he disappeared. We had been sitting on the docks along the shoreline of the Elizabeth River, our hands entwined as one, forming a single limb between us. Then he looked into my eyes with such a fierce passion I had never seen before, and leaned forward to kiss my lips. I was shocked: in real life and in the dream, it was the same exact emotion that would repeat over and over for centuries to come or until my heart would mend. Then as he kissed me, I felt something I had never felt before. It was such a strong, overpowering feeling. It was more than an emotion; it was a bird singing from my ribcages to be released. He released it. It was love.

I opened my eyes and made out that it was dawn. I sat up and grumbled beneath my breath.

The dream, as always, was so clear and felt as real as though it were happening. Yet it depressed me each and every morning, the realization that James was, in fact, not here. I woke each morning to a world without him, and each morning the fracture on my heart ached like an open wound. Yet I felt it beginning to heal, despite itself. However, I determined to wait for him to come back. It had been two years, and I knew I could wait longer. I would die a maiden, regardless of my mother's constant arrangements.

"Well, don't you look pitiful," my mother murmured. Her arm was outstretched, waiting for me to take the candle from her hand. I set the candle on my table and gazed from my window the pink sky. It was beautiful, to say the least. I looked at my mother, the flickering flame casting an orange glow on porcelain skin and rosy cheeks. I had inherited from her these features along with a soft soprano voice and the faculty to play piano.

She left the room in a huff and I dressed slowly. I took a deep breath before I began my day, then counted back from ten as I walked the corridor and down the stairs. I did this every morning as a way to change my countenance from a somber one into the cheerful one the world expected from me. Only mother was permitted to see me sad. I did not want to bring the entire world down with me in my mourning. At the count of one, a smile was upon my face and I was in the dining room.

I grinned at my father's hair, the distinct color of a radiating fire, disheveled and messy. He looked up at me from his chair at the table as I teased his hair to the side and patted it down gently. It would not stay for long, I thought as I bent down to kiss him on the cheek that was spotted with freckles resembling my own.

"Good morning, Father," I said to him.

"Good morning, Ceara, my love," he winked. I grinned at the Gaelic name that only he called me. Mother had long forgotten my given same once it was changed to Victoria in honor of the new queen of her homeland.

"Good morning, Declan," I waved to my brother, and he smiled at me gently. He had a look on his face I could not place.

Mother had already begun cooking breakfast. I danced into the kitchen to help, humming as I went.

My family was not rich by any means, but we had a modest fortune.

We had nothing when we came to America eighteen years ago. I faintly remember those days, not of Ireland, but of our journey across the ocean when I was four years old. I can recollect the creaking sounds the ship made as it rocked slowly back and forth. I can recall the fear I felt, the subtle anxiety in my mother's eyes, the composed serenity of my father's face as he held me, and the courage of my brother's countenance. Memories like those are hard to forget, and will stay with me for eternity.

My father's profession had been ship worker from the time he was a young teenager living in Ireland. It is what he knew. He had heard that working in America was more profitable than it was in Europe, so he decided to move the family across the ocean to a port town, Portsmouth, Virginia.

When we arrived in Virginia, my parents came by a small home they could barely afford, and we settled. It was not the nicest of neighborhoods, but alas they made it a home. Through the years he worked for the shipyard, Father climbed the ranks from lowly shipbuilder to shipyard manager. My brother followed Father into the profession and was assigned as apprentice. This afforded us women with the means to stay at home and care for the home and family.

During the day I played piano, practiced singing, helped Mother keep the house, and socialized with the neighbors. I had a completely unexciting life, and that's the way I liked it. It was all I knew. However, if James hadn't gone missing, we'd be married by now, I'm sure. I would be taking care of our children while he worked at the shipyard with my brother and father. It would have been lovely. It was something I still hoped for, even though all hope should have been lost. My faith in his pending return was all I had to keep me going.

I breathed in the scent of the breakfast on the stove. It smelt delicious. Mother was a spectacular cook. In another life, she could have been a chef. Her corned beef and cabbage was absolutely to die for, but that would come later in the evening. For now it was simply eggs and maple bacon, my favorite. I took four plates and silverware from the cupboards and glided back into the dining room. I set the table while singing a little tune I had made up, then returned to the kitchen. I could see through the small window that it was now yellow outside. The sun had risen, slowly beginning to illuminate our home within.

Our house was beautiful. Mother had worked for some time as a housekeeper for Mrs. Hazel. By the time the old woman died of loneliness, father was a junior manager at the shipyard and my brother an apprentice. We had just enough money to purchase the beautiful small house she had lived in near the river. It was just large enough for all of us and our belongings.

I loved our house. It was white with peach trim and had a small front yard with green grass, a tiny garden where I planted lilies, and a white picket fence. The houses in the neighborhood were packed together tightly, but it was no matter because our neighbors were lovely people.

We sat down at the table. Father said a quick prayer, and then we ate. Declan was not his usual self at all. He ate quickly, then took a deep breath and looked at us all with fear and determination in his eyes, his brow furrowed together.

"I'm leaving the shipyard," he said.

"Excuse me?" my mother replied, having fully heard him. She needed to hear him again. My father looked up from his plate with a slightly amused look on his face.

"I'm leaving the shipyard, and I'm leaving home."

"And just where are you going to go?" Mother demanded.

"I'm going to New York... to Manhattan. This..." he took a deep breath. He was ready for the barrage of rage from our father and tears from our mother. "This is not the life I want to lead. This is not where I want to be. I want... more."

"Don't be ridiculous," my father finally spoke. Mother picked up a napkin and started to dab her eyes before the tears even began. I felt as though I would cry, too.

"I'm not being ridiculous!" my brother shouted in reply. "I've decided to go and live my dreams. To follow my destiny."

"That is positively absurd, young man!" father was shouting now. "And don't raise your voice near your mother and sister," he added quietly.

I was now beginning to cry.

"I can't stand it anymore! The smell of this place! The sounds, the people. It's all just so... mediocre! I need more! I'm unfulfilled and I feel as though I am dying. I'm dying, and I need to get the hell out of here!"

My mother gasped. I opened my mouth in shock before I realized I had done so. I had had no idea my brother felt as depressed as I. For other reasons, of course, but depressed nonetheless. He was now taking action, bravely rising from his desolation. Or acting stupidly, I wasn't sure which. I had always known him to be courageous and carefree. He would always climb the highest trees and swim the longest lengths of the river. I had always envied him. I wished I could be like him, more fearless. I envied him now, able to do something about his circumstances. I would not voice these opinions in front of our parents, however.

"Stop! Stop saying these things! Please!" our mother begged.

"Mother, I am sorry. I am so very sorry. I don't mean to make you cry. I love you so much. You, father, Victoria. You all are my world. But I have dreams. I want to be a writer. I've written some things and I've saved some money. I'm going to New York and there's nothing you can do to stop me," he said, now looking at Father with resolve.

"Fine! Leave!" Father roared. I broke down in tears. I could not stand to see Father so upset at my brother. It was unbearable.

"Please stop yelling," I cried. "Let him do what he wants. If he wants to go, let him go!"

"Thank you, Victoria," Declan said quietly.

My father looked at me and opened his mouth as though he were about to say something, but he stopped himself. He took a very deep breath and closed his eyes, rubbing the temples of his forehead with his thumbs. He looked up and into my brother's eyes.

"When are you leaving?" he finally asked.

"Today."

"You have a place to live in New York?"

"Yes."

"You are sure you have the money you need." A statement, not a question.

"Yes, I'm sure."

Father took in a deep breath and looked at his wife, who was now weeping with little restrain. "Emily," he said calmly. "Emily, please." He looked as though he would cry at the sight of her crying. I knew he could not stand to see her unhappy. He quickly turned his head to look at Declan with an enraged glare.

"Leave then," he said quietly.

Declan excused himself from the table and went upstairs to his room. I cleared the table quickly and carelessly dropped the dishes into the sink before following him. I passed my father and mother huddled together, Father hugging his wife, comforting her gently. The bedroom door was closed, so I knocked.

"Who is it?"

"It's me," I replied.

"Come in."

I opened the door and gasped. Suitcases were already packed in a corner. A portfolio and papers that looked like maps were strewn across his desk.

"Declan, how long have you been planning this?"

"It feels like forever, but I suppose it's been about a year now."

"Then why did you spring it upon us like this? Some warning would have been nice, Declan."

"There was no other way. They would have talked me into staying, and I would have stayed. I need this, Victoria. I need to get away. I know it in my soul."

"I understand."

"You do?" he asked.

"Yes, Declan. I envy you. You have no idea how much I envy your ability to just pick up and leave your sadness behind. I've wished I could do the same since..."

"I know. I can tell," he whispered and I frowned.

"I thought I have been hiding it well."

"You and I—we are so similar, Victoria. Two peas in the pod are we," he smiled. "I know you."

At that, I leapt into his arms and cried, "Oh, Declan. I'm going to miss you so much."

"I'm going to miss you, too, Little Sister."

* * *

**End Notes:**

Thanks for reading! Remember, reviews = good karma! ;-D


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